She Mail Porn

Christmas is coming up and I've been trying to figure out what to ask Santa for.  A few days ago I was wandering around Best Buy trying to find something cool but not so complicated that the elves wouldn't be able to make it, when I stumbled into the laptop area. 

It’s interesting to see how laptops have diverged into distinct subgroups.  What began as just a portable version of a computer where all companies generally made the same product, has become a spectrum that varies broadly between itty-bitty, pocket-sized machines and gigantic, air-sucking megalodons.

I don’t necessarily NEED a new laptop, but it’s always fun to browse; everyone’s played that game before.

I was wandering through a gauntlet of HP behemoths when I heard something odd.  It sounded like a girl asking “do you want to see my-“ and then it suddenly cut out.  I looked over to see a young kid scrambling around on a computer further down the line.  I kept walking.

When I got close enough, I could see on that the kid’s computer was showing the desktop, and yet his gaze remained fixed on the screen. 

Well this is suspicious.  No one just looks at the desktop…unless…

He turned to me, blushing.  That’s quite the poker face, kid. 

“Jeremy!”  A woman called out from somewhere.  “Jeremy, where are you?”

“H-here!”  The kid squawked nervously.  He cleared his throat and started toward the voice.  After a few steps, he turned to glance back at the computer he had been using.  Then his gaze shifted and met mine.  When the woman called again, he turned and ran, disappearing around the corner.

As the sound of his pattering feet dissolved into the low hum of 500 televisions all set to the same Mexican soccer game, I was struck with a morbid curiosity.

I moved over in front of the kid’s computer and opened a web browser.  I opened the history expecting to be confronted by some sordid something or other.  I found nothing.  An odd blend of relief and disappointment washed over me.  I closed the web browser.

Then I noticed that there were two different web browsers installed on this particular computer.  I had opened Google Chrome, but perhaps the kid had used Mozilla Firefox.

I opened up Firefox and navigated to the history.

It started innocently enough:  “Car Gamse” was his first search.  Kind of funny that he misspelled a word.  Endearing almost.  Then he clicked through a couple game sites:  AddictingGames, Miniclip, and a few I didn’t recognize.

Then something went horribly wrong.

There must have been an AdultFriendFinder advertisement or something dirty on one of these websites because the kid’s next click took him to some like “Japanese Lust Garden” place or something.

There were a dozen or so clicks through what Asia had to offer before the kid began to hone his tastes.

“She Mail Porn” was his next Google search.  There’s that adorable spelling again.

This is oddly specific, isn’t it?  I thought.  When I was this kid’s age I didn’t even know what a girl was, much less a girl with swiss-army equipment.

The shock of this discovery suddenly gave way to jealousy.

This kid was 10?  Maybe 11 tops.  I don’t know what I’m going to do with my future, if I’m going to be able to fulfill my dreams, if I’ll be able to support a family.  I can’t even make simple decisions like whether to eat Frosted Cheerios or Frosted Flakes in the morning, and yet this kid knows exactly what he wants.  I found myself, while I looked through this kid’s very narrow and discerning Google searches, growing envious of his self-assuredness.  I want to feel passionate about something!  If he can do it, why can’t I?

“I wish I liked shemale porn” I found myself thinking.  And then I realized how absurd that was and added this addendum: “Thank God that’s a metaphor.”

A woman’s loud voice ripped me from my reverie.

“Jeremy!  You have to tell mommy what you want for Christmas!  I can’t read your mind you know.  What do you want?”

I know what he wants.

Jeremy and his mother walked by the computers, his hand clutched tightly in hers.  He looked over at me, his face completely draining of color when he realized that I was at his old computer.

I clicked the clear history button on the computer and gave Jeremy a secret thumbs up that I knew only he could see.

No look of realization entered his face, so maybe he didn’t understand what I had done for him.  It’s okay, though.  This is the season of giving after all.  I’m like his secret Santa.

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I left Best Buy with a little spring in my step.  It’s nice to do things for others, even if it is to protect the perverted generation whose tax dollars I’m going to depend upon for my old people medicine.